


unspoken truths

by Antartique



Series: FE3H Sketchbook [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 'Sylvain but he is mute' AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antartique/pseuds/Antartique
Summary: Four years without seeing each other can change a relationship's dynamics, especially when one of you has lost his ability to speak.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: FE3H Sketchbook [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013919
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	unspoken truths

**Author's Note:**

> [Sketchbook piece, unbeta'd]  
> This is a Mute!Sylvain AU I started for a friend ages ago, but then it got terrible (becauseithadincest) and so I'm posting the part that is clean. This was meant to be everyone/Sylvain, and the last bit with Ferdinand and Marianne was a part of that. Mute Sylvie is much the same as canon Sylvie, he just uses more magic, because I said so.

The last thing they hear in Sylvain’s voice is:

“I know it doesn’t mean much from me but, if you need me, I will always be here for you, alright?,” to Dimitri;

“Keep training, become a knight and you can make your family your own, so, don’t give up?” to Ingrid;

“You don’t need to hide that you’re sad, but if you want to, then, let me hide with you for a while?”, to Felix.

That had been at Glenn’s funeral. The whole service had been a very private affair, following Fraldarius norms, with only the families closest to them around instead of the usual entourage that knights _supposedly_ deserved. In fact, none of them were expecting the Gautier to come, because they generally didn’t move from their land unless _strictly_ necessary, but-

When Felix thinks back to that day, he wonders how he didn’t see anything wrong. Yes, he was mourning, but the _off_ feeling of Sylvain’s whole being felt doubled from the usual, almost like a physical entity clinging to his back. Maybe it was because Dimitri’s face hadn’t changed at all in the past week, and Ingrid kept trying to smile, and Felix hadn’t cried since the very first night; his façade-detection skill had been completely used up.

The Gautier _did_ attend the funeral, though it was only Sylvain and his mother, all dark and few words as usual. She talked very little, just pleasantries and condolences, and kept eyeing the sky like she was waiting for sunset, while Sylvain tried to cheer his friends up with little success. They said their prayers, joined them for dinner, stayed the night, and then they were gone.

Felix doesn’t see Sylvain until four years later, in Garreg Mach.

Oh, he hears from him. He got letters. They _all_ got letters. Apparently, the King dying was the perfect moment for Sreng to start poking the border again, so the Gautier were back to being busy. Sylvain wrote of the border, of storms, of icey flowers and frozen lakes; he told them about his horse, about the terror of Srenge archers and how he had come to really hate the color green. He wrote about Miklan ( _angry_ ), about his Crest that had been discovered ( _annoying_ ) and about magic lessons ( _difficult_ ); he wrote about how his cousin was dying of stress trying to keep peace between some tribes, and how funny it was that his parents only looked happy when covered in blood.

Felix thinks about the last one, about Dimitri, and wonders if it is the same. The Gautier are… odd, but they don’t _scare_ him, not like Dimitri does. He knows that Sylvain’s default reaction to everything is _laugh_ , but somehow it is not as bad as Dimitri’s… gallant prince act. Sylvain was already creepy on his own, because it was a rare day on Fódlan when he displayed the smallest sign of negative emotion, but Dimitri had taken that and made it an art.

Or, that was what Felix thought.

He had been wrong.

If he can be honest with himself, all he wants to do right now is grab Ingrid and cry on her shoulder, but he cannot do that. He cannot do that, because that would be giving away far too much to anyone who could be watching, and to Sylvain, and-

And things have changed, now. It might not look like much to an outsider, but they have changed _a lot_ , and all three of them —Ingrid, Dimitri, Felix himself— can see it as clear as day. To him, it sounds like glass shattering in the back of his head, a future he had built on idealistic memories and wide eyed promises collapsing on itself, a cry for help hidden behind messy handwriting and dark red ink. It is like the half-second after seeing an archer release an arrow when stuck in combat, when the decision between dodge or parry can save your life.

Ingrid dodges. She has taken the reins of their horses, face hidden behind her arm and voice soft when she tells them she will be back soon. She practically runs off, ignoring the stable boy when he tries to help her. She won’t be back soon, in fact, they won’t see her until dinner.

Dimitri parries. He pulls Sylvain into a hug which lasts a little longer than is polite, but then says he will help Dedue with their belongings, so he will see them in the dorms in a bit. He picks up everything, because he is ridiculously strong, and he is gone. He is not lying: they _do_ see him in the dorms, but does it really matter?

Felix misses the half-second window, and takes the arrow to the shoulder, then a sword to the chest, and a lance pierces his back to finish him off. He ends up standing there, frozen, still trying to come to terms with what he is seeing- still trying to _accept this new reality_ , this silent and dark reality they have suddenly been thrown into.

(The shattering glass and collapsing future and unheard plea that blind his eyes and cloud his mind and deafen his ears will be there, in the back of his head, until he dies. The guilt, pointless in his self-hatred, will remain like heavy lead in his throat for long years. And also for years, he will swallow his words, he will hide behind lies, and protect from one step behind instead of right besides.)

It has been four years since Felix last saw Sylvain, yet _never_ had he seen his face, his body, acting so empty, so _doll-like_. His face is older, he is taller and broader, the Academy’s uniform makes him look all the 19 years he is supposed to have and even more; still, he looks more fragile than he looked whenever anyone asked about his bruises, or about his long adventures in the middle of the night of a deadly Gautier winter. It is horrible, watching him look like the smallest breeze will break him in half, folding on himself like he expects Felix to hit him and-

It breaks his heart, watching Sylvain’s emotions fall off his face until nothing is left, just empty eyes and a flat smile. He makes a sign - _sorry_ -, and turns to leave, and Felix faces another split-second moment to decide his life.

(A future without Sylvain is no future at all.)

Felix rushes, reaches out and grabs Sylvain’s wrist.

“So, you have been here a week? Found anything interesting yet, or is it just rocks-”

They end up hidden amongst some bushes, laying on the ground, Sylvain sobbing in his neck while Felix holds him, idly tracing the bandages peeking out from under his shirt.

* * *

Felix has his second ‘ _stupid Fraldarius moment_ ’ with Sylvain that very night, in the dining hall. They are having dinner in the farthest table, keeping to themselves for now, Dedue acting as a wall to one side of Dimitri. Ingrid is still sobbing on the boar, occasionally taking a spoonful of food only to continue sobbing, turning energy into tears the second it is consumed (she will be hungry later). Dimitri himself is talking to Sylvain about whatever special arrangements their class needs for him, stopping at some words to sign them as if asking for corrections.

Felix watches. He is sitting next to Sylvain, watching Dimitri watch Sylvain while trying to remember how to speak, and for the first time in a while he _regrets_ not studying more. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to learn, but Glenn died, his Father stopped caring, and their _precious_ prince’s nonverbal episodes were also the episodes when he lost his head. It hadn’t been necessary.

Except, it _had_ been, and Sylvain had had _four whole years_ and dozens of letters to tell any of them, and he had _not_. They could have killed a man (name unknown) by now, but Sylvain did not say one thing. He had learned a whole new language, and changed his whole lifestyle, and he _hid it_.

Felix’s Stupid Fraldarius Moment happens _because_ he realizes that, the moment he realizes it, and races through his head like lightning. He just… doesn’t think. He puts a hand on Sylvain’s thigh (Sylvain jolts, curling his hands in a spell almost instinctively before he remembers where he is), fingers pressing down just a little, words leaving his mouth before he can process them:

“Stop keeping things from me.” He has a vague notion of Ingrid and Dimitri looking at him like he has grown a new head. “I won’t either so, please stop.”

He gets a hand on his own in response, a promise sealed, and that’s all.

* * *

Their first days at the Monastery are spent getting used to it, to their new classmates, to each other, and to Sylvain. The Academy dorms are... not big, and none of them are used to being in close quarters with _anyone_ for longer than a week at most, and leaving their rooms in their morning to see each other right away? It is _weird_.

Felix really doesn’t like that he is next to one Claude von Riegan, who stays up until whatever hour he wants and tends to make _noise_ , but at least he stands between the only easy way in and Dimitri and Sylvain, so that is good. Ingrid, however, is at the end of the hall, right before the stairs, and they all think that is terrible. Dedue is downstairs, right below Dimitri, and the first night Sylvain joked that they could punch a hole through the ground/ceiling to pass notes.

As for their classmates… they exist. Felix doesn’t get to meet any of them until the first day of class, mostly because he was too busy breaking training dummies in the training grounds while imagining the nameless guy who made Sylvain mute, and before he realizes it, it is the first day of class. That is okay, though, because Sylvain didn't meet them either, preferring to hole himself up in Seteth’s office (‘where he has been all week,’ Dimitri said after deciphering the hurried explanation) and read, or beat Flayn in chess or cards or other games.

Felix _does_ meet a pair from the other two classes, because they end up training almost as much as him: Caspar and Raphael. They are absolutely ridiculous. And also, very loud: their voices ring in his head for hours afterwards, long after he has left and joined the others. He also meets their shadows, who never seem to be too far and both have green --or green _ish_ \-- hair.

But aside from that, their weekend is mostly catching up.

Dimitri doesn’t have much to say. Everything is the same in his life: his uncle is a terrible human being, Dedue is his quiet shadow, he has nightmares. Ingrid talks about her training and her pegasus and some other pegasus she has been helping with. Felix doesn’t talk much, because he just doesn’t. Sylvain rambles, mostly about Sreng and the stormwall, until he changes dialects and no one can understand what he is saying anymore, which makes him pout and go get cake.

Like that, the first day of class arrives. There is a terrible assembly, they meet their terrible teachers who are supposed to fight with each other about what classroom they will teach, and then they are marching out for a field trip.

This will end up badly.

* * *

The last of the bandits runs away, and Ferdinand can finally, finally rest. A wave of healing magic rushes over him, hopefully the last one for the day, and he goes back to his mages to see if they are safe.

This is the worst field trip ever, but also, it looks suspiciously choreographed. What are the chances they get attacked at just the right moment, with just the right numbers, and that they get divided in groups of exactly three, with one member of each house per group? Ferdinand might be naïve, but this is pushing even him, he is not _stupid_.

His group is also well balanced, which is a nice surprise. At first he had thought the redhead was another close range fighter like himself, which would have also been good, but then he had started throwing fireballs. And the girl was decent with a sword, but better at healing, so they had all sides covered. Planned or not, either way he thanks whatever rules over his life for both his mages.

Now, if only he could remember their names. He knows their _surnames_ , their _families_ , Gautier and Edmund, but their names? He hasn’t had the chance to learn them just yet.

“Good work, classmates! We are victorious!”

The girl sighs, sheathing her sword before pressing her clasped hands to her chest in relief, some quick prayer leaving her lips. The boy --or well, man; Ferdinand is pretty sure he is older than himself-- plants his lance on the ground and waves both hands besides his hand, an awkward motion that makes the girl laugh behind her hands. Her laugh is quiet, raspy in a way that reveals she doesn’t use her voice often, and in a way it makes the world light up and birds sing in harmony.

And then the man- Gautier is, moving his hands? Oh, oh, he is signing! He seems to get through some words before quickly dropping his hands, hiding them behind his back with a frown, biting at his lip as if he suddenly remembered something. And, well, Ferdinand can’t say anything to that.

“Well! I am Ferdinand von Aegir, of the Black Eagles.” He introduces himself, because he can’t continue calling them by their surname. It is rude, and they are equals, as classmates as well as nobles, and now as siblings in arms who have fought together. “May I have the pleasure to know your names?”

“Ma- Marianne. Edmund.” The girl tugs at her hair, shuffles her feet, then snaps to an almost perfect posture. “Marianne von Edmund. Deers. A… pleasure?” She looks at the redhead in question, and he shrugs, making a series of small motions that make no sense to Ferdinand at all. Apparently, Marianne understands, not all of it, but enough. “Sylve? Sylvan?”

“Sylvain Gautier!” Ferdinand _had_ read the names, he just doesn’t have as good a memory as _Edelgard_ , or Hubert (both who could name everyone and the staff currently in the monastery, and probably their parents too).

Gautier nods, smiling bright like the sun, and Marianne bows quickly to both of them, mumbling some unneeded thanks, and Ferdinand has exactly one blink of his eyes to realize his face feels warmer before he has to look away.

(Both of them? One, he could understand, but _both_?)

**Author's Note:**

> So what's Sylvain's new stats? It is the same, he just uses more magic, most importantly Dark Magic like Lysithea. While he was getting used to not being able to speak, many people tried to take advantage of him so his family was like, 'yeah no' and trained him to use magic to defend himself on reflex. His cousin (Yisu, from my fic Mistakes) was usually in charge of watching over him while getting used to everything. Also, the dark magic is a direct opposite to Miklan, who uses White Magic instead in all my fics, because I find it hilarious.
> 
> What happened to Sylvie? Uh, Miklan happened. What happens in the future? Miklan becomes a zombie and is a grand nuisance. That is it, that's the fic. Am I continuing it? Dunno, it depends, I'm just cleaning my docs.


End file.
